


Cajun Queen

by Saoirse_Laochra



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Background Merle Dixon, Child Abuse, F/M, It's Merle Dixon what do you expect, Language, Non-Graphic Smut, Violence, some racist language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7427392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saoirse_Laochra/pseuds/Saoirse_Laochra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, if dis ain't a day for de history books. Here I was tinkin' you was a Marine; must a gotten ya confused with dem National Guard bougs." Merle chuckled as he opened one eye, seeing a flash of dark red hair. "Gotta be in hell, Frenchie; Never would a let ya in upstairs."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Cajun Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so. I decided a few days ago I wanted to do a Merle/OFC fic. And then I spent two days trying to figure out a female character that would actually hold Merle down, or even want to to hold him down lol. The result was this fic. The title is from James Dean's 'Cajun Queen'.
> 
> Warnings: Merle Dixon is the consummate asshole, and racist. So be forewarned, there will be some racist language in this story. I'm not racist, and while I don't endorse or use the type of language that you'll read, I'm not going to sugar-coat, and change Merle so I don't hurt people's feelings. I figure if you're reading this, you know exactly what type of man Merle is, so you should be expecting it.
> 
> On the Dialect: The OFC in this story is Cajun, of which, I'm not. My father's best friend and his family are though, and I'm using what I've heard from them as most of dialect for this. Firstly, 'Th' is pronounced as 'D', as in 'dat' (that) 'dem' (them), or occasionally as just 'T', as in 'tinkin' (thinking). As far as sounds... The only way I can describe it is a fast-paced drawl if that makes any sense what so ever. Most of these words probably aren't spelled right, as Cajun isn't a written language, but a spoken one.

Merle couldn’t help the grunt of pain as he lost his grip on the blood-slicked rung of the fire escape, smashing his chin and head off bars before slamming into the concrete of the alleyway below.

Well… Good a place to die as any, he supposed.

He could hear Geeks growling. Didn’t sound close, but that’d change. Things were like fuckin’ bloodhounds when they caught the scent of fresh meat; they’d find him soon enough, nothin’ for it.

Wished he had his damn pistol he’d left with Daryl… A bullet to the head was starting to sound like a mighty fine last meal, compared to the prospect of bein’ eaten alive, and comin’ back as a walking corpse.

Although if the fuckers didn’t hurry the fuck up, he probably wouldn’t have to worry about the ‘alive’ part of eaten alive, he thought with a chuckle.

“Well, if dis ain’t a day for de history books. Here ol’ chere was, tinkin’ you was a _Marine_ ; must o’ gotten you confused with dem _National Guard bougs_.”

Merle chuckled again, forcing one eye open, and smiling at the flash of dark red hair that filled his vision.

“Shit… Gotta be in Hell, Frenchie… Never wouldda let ya in Upstairs.”

And with that, Merle Dixon let his eyes slowly close, following Frenchie’s voice along the paths of the dead.

* * *

The woman caught his eye, and not just ‘cause she was probably the only woman for fifty miles that didn’ have facial hair.

“Hey,” Merle muttered, elbowing the kid sitting next to him, his gaze locked on the girl. “Who the hell is that?”

The kid –a pasty-faced, gangly Yank –followed his gaze across the room, before looking back at Merle with a shit-eating grin. “That? That, my friend, is Lantier. Wouldn’t try your luck though; she’s not particularly friendly, or so the rumor mill goes.”

Merle ignored the little shit-stain's further attempts at conversation, letting his eyes drift over the dark, red-haired woman standing in line to get her grub. The standard issue uniform did nothing to hide her nice rack, although the pants weren't doing her backside any favors. But glancing at her well-toned arms, and torso, he assumed she probably had one hell of an ass hiding underneath those baggy green pants.

 _Tall_ , too. God, he liked tall women. Normally, he preferred blondes, but he had to admit, there was something about that blood-red mane a hers that was making him all sorts of hot and bothered.

And that rack! That sports bra – standard issue for woman in the military – was bouncing  _up and down, up and down..._

"You got some 'tin you wanna be sayin’,  _boug_ , or you jus' a  _domion_?"

Merle was a little surprised, firstly by the fact that the woman was standing right in front of him, green eyes flashing angrily, secondly by the thick accent that came out of those full, luscious lips.

"Well, I'll be _damned_! We got ourselves a Frenchie here!" He said with a throaty chuckle, letting his eyes wander up and down the woman. Damned if she wasn't prettier up close than he'd thought when he'd first seen her. "Never thought I'd see one a your kind outside a swamp!"

"An' _I_ never tought I'd be seein' a hundred an' fity pound sack o' shit eider, but hey, de world is full o' surprises,  _non_?" She said with a snort, before sashaying away.

* * *

It was surprising how often he seen her after that; it seemed like every time he turned around, he was catching small glimpses of that red hair tucked under a green cap.

He also started to notice how much shit she was getting from the other guys. Now Merle wasn't one of those pussy-whipped bitch-men, who crowed about 'women being just as good as any man', but on the flip side of that, he knew that women weren't all meek and mild, easily shoved around. Hell, his mama had given his daddy just as good as she got. Annie Dixon had been a force to be reckoned with, instilling fear around the neighborhood – and her own home – that had nothing to do with her husband.

And the more he seen of 'PFC. Lantier', the more he realized that she was better than half the guys in their training groups, even with half the shit they piled on her. Trying to make her fail.

He'd seen a few of them trip her up while on runs. Saw her take a few dirty hits while they were in hand-to-hand training. Even saw one guy give her a shove while she was on the practice wall, sending her flying into the mud on the other side.

The one thing he didn't see was her complain, or attempt any payback. She always just seemed to grit her teeth, and keep moving. Hell, most guys he knew would've – at the very least – thrown a few punches at the offending party, or even talked to the sergeant about it. But she handled it like... like a man, Merle thought with a grin as he tugged his dirty, mud-covered boots off, before dropping down onto his bunk. And after that, sleep quickly chased all thoughts of PFC. Lantier from his mind, exhaustion robbing him of even the chance to dream of her.

* * *

" _Stay wid me, Dixon; ain't gon' have ya dyin' on me now, non. Ya jus' keep dem blue eyes a yours open. Be jus' like you, it would; leave poor ol'_ chere _here all lonely like. Jus' when Ah was t'inkin' Ah'd have some company, me. You ugly mug be de first friendly face Ah seen in a long time,_ cher _."_

* * *

__

Merle watched, keeping his face expressionless as Lantier – if anyone knew her first name, they weren't sharing the info with him – stepped up to the edge of the platform, ready to take her turn at shimmying down the rope. And he watched as Medina – a nasty little weasel of a wetback – snaked his arm out, and gave her a hard shove.

It was easily a ten foot fall to the ground below, and Merle almost winced in sympathy as he heard the hard thud of the Cajun hitting the ground.

"Lantier! What the hell happened?!" Sgt. Balcom demanded, stepping around the wooden platform to look at the girl. "First day on the new feet?!"

"Sir... No, sir," Lantier bit out, and even from where he stood a few feet away with the others who had completed the exercise, Merle could see her grit her teeth.

"Then get your ass up, and get to the medic! Dixon!" Merle pulled himself up a little straighter, yanking his eyes away from the still-prone form of Lantier, and looking towards the sergeant. "Since you can't stop making googly eyes, make yourself useful, and give her a hand! The rest of you, move on!"

A few groans, and more than a bit of muttering followed the sergeant's last order, and the other men gradually started to fade away as Merle walked over to Lantier, frowning.

"Ya gonna get up there, Frenchie, or ya jus' gonna lie in the mud all day? Waitin' for ya damn  _poodle_  ta come an' save ya?" He asked roughly, setting down on the balls of his feet, resting his elbows on his knees.

The woman cracked open one eye, and shot him a glare that matched anything his father had ever given him.

"Fuck you,  _couyon_."

"Aw, is the little girly upset now? Then why don't ya get ya ass up off the damn ground?

" _Merde_ , but do he ever shut his mouth, him?"

Merle flashed the woman a grin. "Oh, I'm sorry, Frenchie; thought ya wanted ta be a  _Marine_. Ballet is down the road aways; want me ta  _carry_  ya there?"

His words had the intended effect, as Lantier pushed herself up on her elbows, grimacing in pain as she did, but keeping her glare fixed on him.

"You gon' help a  _fille_  up dere?" She grunted finally. "Tink Ah sprained my ankle."

Merle stood, and offered her a hand, helping pull her up, before wrapping one of her arms around his shoulders.

* * *

" _Ah'm sorry,_ cher _. Dis gon' hurt some tin fierce._ C'est la vie _. Always knew you mouth was gon' get you into trouble someday, me. Too charming for you own good, what Maw Maw would say."_

_ Pain. Burning, searing, red-hot, fiery, agonizing, indescribable pain. _

" _You jus' hold on dere,_ cher _. Hold on to ol' Savannah's voice, you. It's gon' all be over soon. You jus' listen to ol' Frenchie,_ de pouille _. She gon' get you safe. Don' you worry."_


	2. Nights We'll Never Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: There is some racist language in this chapter. While I don't condone the use of such language, Merle does... And in Merle's defense, T-Dog was responsible for him losing his hand... Ahem, anyways... Be forewarned, it is in here (a single instance of the word), but I refuse to change it, sugar-coat it, or blank it out. If you're reading this story, you should know who Merle is, and how he talks lol.

Merle groaned, pain lancing through his entire body, as he forced one eye open, his head still spinning and aching something fierce. After a few agonizing minutes, he came to the conclusion that he just hurt too damn much to be dead.

His limbs felt like jello as he swung them over the edge of... a bed? How the hell had he ended up in a bed? He wondered, moving his hand to scratch his head.

Everything came rushing back to him as the stump of what had once been his hand bumped against his head, sending shock waves of agony coursing up his arm, a string of curses filling the small bedroom as a wave of pain-induced nausea dropped him to his knees

The door flew open, and instantly, Merle stopped cussing, staring at the dream-come-to-life standing in the doorway.

"Frenchie?" He asked, a note of amazement in his voice. "That… That really you?"

Ten years had only improved her looks; gone was any trace of the baby-fat cheeks and dimples, replaced with high, narrow cheek bones, and a small scar below her left eye. But those full, ruby red lips hadn't changed, and he'd know that blood-red mane anywhere.

"Dat's _'Captain'_ Frenchie to you, Dixon," Lantier said with a grin, leaning against the door jam and folding her arms across her chest. Merle almost forgot his missing hand, his jeans tightening uncomfortably for a moment. Those tight, dark-wash jeans that curved and hugged in all the right places, and the black, skin-tight shirt that showcased her perky, perfect breasts almost better than he anything he could remember.

"Captain, huh?" He said with a chuckle, resting his feet on the floor as he leaned back against the wall. "So ya did stay in."

"Oui. Joined MARSOC after I left, an’ made de Raiders four years ago, I did. Even  got my own team, an' everythin’. Jus' in time for de world to go to hell, _non_? Story of ol’ _chere’s_ life. But 'nough 'bout me. Mind tellin' ol'  _chere_  what happened to your arm?"

Merle grunted, unable to bring himself to look at the bandaged stump. "Managed to find the one damn cop still alive," He growled, the memory of 'Officer Friendly' making his blood boil. "Handcuffed me to a pipe on that roof. Then the stupid nigger with him dropped the fuckin' key."

"So dey cut off you’s hand? _Mon Dieu_ , but dat's a group ol' Vanna don' wanna meet."

" _They_ didn't do shit. They left me on that God-forsaken roof to fuckin’ die,” Merle growled, tightening one fist –his only damn fist, he thought belatedly.

Savannah's green eyes widened, as she realized exactly what he say saying, her lips pursing tightly as she shook her head. "Always said you was a  _fou_  bastard,  _cher_. Ain't notin' dat can kill ol' Merle but Merle, _oui_?"

Merle snorted. "They came pretty damn close though. Close enough I could hear the good angels singin’. How long I been here? And where the hell is _'here'_ , anyways? And what the fuck are _you_ doin' in  _Atlanta_ , Frenchie?"

Savannah shrugged as she walked over, sitting on the bed next to him, and starting to pull the bandages off of the stump.

"Ol' farm house, few miles south of de city. After I found you on de roof, knew Ah had to get you somewhere safe, me. Dis was de first place I found dat hadn't been _completely_ picked over. As far as how ol' _chere_ ended up in Atlanta...  _Mais_ , dis was 'Ground Zero' for de outbreak. Four teams was sent here, try an' protect de CDC, an' evacuate all de big, important folk. Dat's when ol' chere realized dat Ah wasn't gon' get evacuated. After all, we was jus’ Jar Head grunts. So dey left us behind," She said, her voice soft as she finished pulling the wrapping off.

Merle bit back another groan as she gently poked and prodded at the wound, before she gave him a grim smile.

"Ol' Frenchie, she keep you pretty good, _non_? No infection. Dough, Ah don' wanna think 'bout de nerves an' shit you messed up. _Ca ne fait rein_. Don' madder none now. Done is done, as Maw Maw always say."

"Ya know, I don’t remember your grandma talkin’ that much when I met her. When did she come up with all these sayin’s?" Merle asked, forcing himself to chuckle. "So you got anybody else I might know with you? Or they stick you with a bunch of greenies?"

Savannah shook her head slowly as she stood. " _Non_. C'mon out here; gon' need to wrap dat up again," She said quietly, offering him a hand up.

* * *

 

_Seventeen years earlier_

Merle chuckled under his breath, glancing around the bar at their assorted classmates, who were all in various degrees of idiocy, flirting with anything that had a pussy.

"You’d think none a 'em ever drank before," He said loudly, to be heard over the din, leaning further against the table.

Savannah grinned at him across the table, raising her shot glass towards him in a salute. "Well, here's to drinkin' wid my betters, _non_?"

"Amen to that, sister," Merle laughed, raising his own glass. After a few minutes of companionable silence, he asked, "So ya hear back from the NROTC yet?"

Savannah shrugged, taking a chaser of her Coors. " _Non_. Still waitin'. Sarge said could take another month. You got anybody comin' up for de graduation?"

Merle snorted. "You kiddin'? My ol' man probably don't even know I'm _gone_ yet. How 'bout you?"

" _Oui_ , my maw maw, and paw paw should be here by de end o' de week. Bringin' all nine o' my brothers an' sisters."

"Nine? Holy shit!" Merle gasped, nearly choking on his whiskey. "Damn, your parents were busy folks, huh?"

Savannah laughed. " _Oui_. Dere seven boys, three girls. But daddy couldn't get de time off de rig, but mama's gon' try an' be here if Mee-Maw is doin' bedder. _Tante_ Georgie and _Nonc_ Louis gonna be here, with dere six peeshawnks."

Merle frowned, squinting one eye at her as he shook his head. "You know, tryin' to follow your family tree is 'bout as confusin' as tryin' ta understand you when ya get mad."

Savannah rolled her eyes, as she motioned to the waitress for another shot. "My grandparents gon' be here, my daddy couldn't get time off de oil rig, mama don' wanna leave my great-grandmother with the nurse 'less she doin' better, an' my aunt an' uncle gon' be here wid dere six runts,” She said, exaggeratedly pronouncing every word slowly, with a Yankee accent that sounded like she had a mouthful of thorns, causing Merle to choke on his whiskey as he laughed.

"Excuse me?"

Both Savannah and Merle's heads snapped around, glaring at the young man who'd interrupted their conversation. He wasn't one of the other graduating marines, but one of the many civilians who'd started wandering into the bar in the last half hour

"Need somethin', son?" Merle asked roughly, glaring daggers at the preppy, blonde haired kid. From his nice, preppie clothes, to his stupid preppie grin, to his stupid preppie body-language, everything about the kid made Merle want to knock his perfect white teeth right down his perfect little preppie throat.

"I was wondering if maybe the lady would like to dance," The boy said, clearly ignoring Merle's grinding teeth, as he shot Savannah a smile.

Savannah didn't return the gesture, letting her gaze wander up and down the pretty boy for a few minutes, clearly enjoying the younger man's discomfort, before she snorted.

"Sorry, _boug_ ; don' much care for _pretty_ _bougs_ , me," She finally said disdainfully, turning her head back towards Merle.

"Oh come on; just one dance," The man cajoled, putting a hand on her arm.

Merle stood, his large, six-foot-two frame towering over the other man, his blue eyes flashing angrily.

"She said she ain't interested," He growled. "I suggest ya remove that hand, 'fore I remove it for ya."

"You her keeper?" The man shot back, and Savannah felt her hackles raise as three more men started towards them, probably the man's friends coming to see what was going on.


	3. Napalm and Kittens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh... minor warning for implied (somewhat, sort of) cruelty to cats... It's the end of the world people, people are gonna do whatever they have to to survive!

"So what happened to your team?" Merle asked, sitting down at the rickety table, cradling his stump against his chest, as Frenchie went over to stand by the stove.

"Didn't make it, dem," She said shortly, stirring something in a large pot, before grabbing a small first aid kit from the counter. "Get you bandaged up, 'fore you go an' get sick on ol'  _chere_  'gain, non?"

Merle grimaced as he set his arm –  _his Goddamned **stump**_  – on the table, and Frenchie started rubbing something smelling like death and vomit, and looking even worse all over it.

"Do I even wanna _know_ what that is?" He asked through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the pain lancing straight up into his shoulder.

"One o' Maw Maw's cure-alls. Oh, stop bein' such a  _bebe_ ," She snapped, as he started to pull his arm away, a trace of fear crossing his features.

" _Baby_?! Shit, probably nine kinds a voodoo, an' dead critters in that!" Merle swore, glancing nervously at the green goop that she'd applied.

"Ain't killed you yet,  _cher_ ," She said firmly, glaring as she grabbed his arm back, and slathering more of the rotten-smelling gunk on it. "An' been puttin' it on you for whole week now, me. 'Sides, you got any idea how long it took Ol'  _chere_  to find dem 'voodoo' herbs? Nearly a whole  _day_  it took. So shush you mouth, an' quit you crying."

When she was finished, Merle watched her dexterous, thin fingers quickly wrap a few layers of gauze around the wound, before she stood again, nodding her head, and walking back over to the stove.

"You gon' be fine, cher. 'Specially once we get some o' Ol' Frenchie's _jambalaya_ in you. Back to you ol' cursin', spittin' self, you."

Merle grunted in response, as he pushed himself to his feet, and walked over next to her, leaning against the counter as he watched her throw a handful of what looked like leaves into the pot.

"Ya ever get married, Frenchie?"

A snort was her only reply.

"Yeah, didn't figure ya did," He chuckled. "Never enough time. Would have had to put your ass-kickin’ on hold."

"You just tryin' to check and see if you got competition, Dixon?" She asked with a grin, green eyes twinkling. " 'Cause ol'  _chere_  gotta say... time ain't 'xactly been you friend, _non_? Look like got run over by de bus, you."

Merle laughed again, folding his arms across his chest as he glanced over her shoulder into the pot, trying to identify... well,  _anything_  that was cooking inside.

"Like I'd even be  _interested_ , Frenchie. I wanna woman who's cookin' I can actually  _eat_. Gets all her groceries at the damn  _grocery_  store. Do I even wanna know what's in this shit?"

She grinned, green eyes twinkling as she shrugged. "Let's jus' say... More Chinese den Cajun."

Merle frowned for a minute, trying to figure out what she meant, before grimaced again as her meaning sank in.

"Damn. You coon-asses'll eat anythin', won't ya?"

"Don' like it, don' eat it," She said simply. "Make you feel any bedder, it's  _minou_. Seem to 'member Ol' Merle don' like cats much,  _non_?."

Merle shook his head as he sat back down. "You's one sick, sick puppy, Frenchie."

"Nah… dat's what we havin' _tomorrow_."

* * *

 

_"Come on now, sweetheart; just one dance," The man tried again, apparently feeling a lot more brazen now that his three friends stood behind him, trying unsuccessfully to stare down Merle._

_"You deaf,_ boug _, or just_ couyon _? Said Ah ain't interested, bioque," She bit out. "Ain't gon' say again: get lost."_

_"Just one quick dance," The man said, giving her arm a tug._

_Deciding that the little bastard wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer, Savannah lashed out, grabbing the man's arm, and using it to pull him face down against the table. Merle had started swinging at the other three, one already down for the count by the looks of his bloody face._

_Before long, it seemed like the whole bar had gotten involved, with the Marine cadets squaring off against the civilians in a 'free-for-all' brawl. When all was said and done, Merle and Savannah were thrown out by the bouncers. They sat there in the cold parking lot, panting a bit, before Savannah grinned, looking over at Merle._

_"Hey, Dixon?"_

_Merle glanced at her, breathing heavily, a bit of blood dripping down his chin. "What?"_

_" 'Tink ol' chere want dat dance now."_

_He glared as he stood, helping her to her feet as they started the long walk back to their base._

_"You ain't wrapped all that tight, Frenchie."_

* * *

 

 

Merle grimaced as he took his first bite of the soup concoction, unable to stop the images of skinned kittens from flashing through his mind as he forced himself to swallow despite the heaving of his stomach.

"If you don' eat dat,  _cher_ , Ah ain't makin' you anythin’ else," Savannah growled from across the table. "Maw Maw always say, starvation is de best cure for a picky stomach."

Merle grunted as he took another bite, practically choking the thick mess down, before he replied, "Yeah, well, I didn't grow up eatin' _roadkill_ , leaves, an' kittens there, Frenchie. Gonna take some gettin' used to."

It actually didn't taste _too_ bad, as long as he didn't think about what was in it. And his stomach felt like he hadn't eaten in a month, so he made quick work of the bowl, although he couldn't quite bring himself to get a second helping, no matter how hungry he was. He'd eaten a lot of things in his day - squirrel, possum, woodchuck, hedgehogs, and armadillos sprang to mind - but... _damn. Cat_.

"So ya know anythin' 'bout what's been goin' on out there?" He asked, leaning back in his chair, and fixing Savannah with an intent look as he shoved his bowl towards the center of the table.

" 'Cordin' to higher ups, don'  _nobody_  know how dis all started," She said with a shrug. "But it started down here. First reported outbreak was in Augusta. Few weeks later, started hearin' o' it poppin' up all over de country, all de way into Canada. By de time my team were sent down, most a quarter people be dead, an' walkin' again. Only good news we had was dat it didn't infect dose already dead 'fore dis  _merde_  all started. Hard enough dealin' wid dis mess; imagine if dere were two hundred  _years_  o' dead people crawlin' 'round on top o' every'tin else."

"So... you an' four other teams was sent down here for...?"

"Try an' hold de CDC, mostly. Evacuate de governor, lieutenant governor, senators, scientists… few rich bougs an' de families if we could."

Merle frowned. "The CDC go down?"

"Don' know. Once Ah figured out we wasn't gonna be evacuated, dat we was gonna be de... sacrificial lambs? Ol' chere got her team, an' left. Weren't gon' be de bait so de higher ups get out," She said scornfully, pushing herself to her feet, and walking over to the counter, leaning both hands against it, her back towards him. "Last I knew, dey wall off de buildin', an' started de napalm strikes."

"Napalm?!"

She turned, giving him a sad smile. " _Oui_. Napalmed de whole damn _city_ ,  _cher_. Dey leveled half o' downtown… most de suburbs too. 'Member Medina? Dat's where he bought it, him. We was hidin' in an old bank vault, us, an' when he heard de bombs start, him wanted to see what was happenin'. Ran outside... By de time it was all over, he was one hell o' a crispy critter."

"Now wait just a damn a minute, Frenchie," Merle interrupted angrily. "If this thing spread to the whole fuckin' country, what the hell was the point a carpet-bombing _Atlanta_?"

"Don't tink it  _was_  jus' Atlanta,  _cher_. 'Fore we left de CDC, heard rumors dat New York City, Los Angeles, an' Chicago already gone, dem. Tink dey went t'rough, an' bombed _all_ de big cities. Try an' keep it from spreadin' more. Ol' chere didn't wanna believe it first, but after Atlanta...  _Mais_... sort o' hard to argue wid you own eyes, non? After seein' dat...  _Merde_ , ol'  _chere_  don' never wanna see  _no'tin_  like dat again, me."

She shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the images there, before she gave him a tight, forced smile. "What 'bout ol' Merle? Where's you brudder, huh? Dat little  _peeshwank_  'most as tough as you. He still 'live an' kickin' somewhere?"

* * *

_Seventeen Years Earlier_

"Hey, Frenchie!" Merle called, moving through the crowd of cadets who were still waiting to see where they were going to be stationed, keeping his eyes peeled for a splash of red hair. "Frenchie! Where the hell are ya, you lousy coon-ass?"

Finally, he managed to force his way through the green sea, and found Savannah sitting away from the chaos, over by the obstacle course.

"Looks like we're goin' to Iraq," He said with a grin. "Whole unit deploys in three months. Guess that means we got three months a hell-raising, huh? What?" He asked, stopping his celebrating short, seeing the anger written on her face.

"Ain't goin', me. Got de orders dis mornin'; ol' Frenchie gets ta be a damn 'ffirmative action number," She said bitterly, pulling up a handful of grass, and chucking it towards the mob. "Dey posted me in de French embassy. Said de needed a _fille_ dere, an' de last one jus' got herself pregnant. An' dose damn _couyons_ seem to tink dat 'cause ol' _chere_ is Cajun, she gotta speak good French, her."

"You serious?" Merle asked roughly, sitting down next to her. "When they shippin' ya out?"

"Six weeks."

Merle was quiet for a moment, before he finally grunted. "Well, I figure we can see lotta shit in six weeks, huh? I gotta go check on my baby brother, then maybe you show me your swamps. Make a road trip or some shit out of it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I do NOT endorse eating your pets... Or anybody else's pets... Even in a post-apocalypse world... But then again, I'm the type of girl who'd eat my neighbor before I'd eat my pets.


	4. Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is entirely past. I'll try to notate the difference in the beginning chapter notes if a whole chapter is going to be in the past, so pay attention kiddies. : )

Merle stared out the windshield of Savannah's jeep for a few minutes, a frown plastered on his face as he looked at the run-down, ramshackle house he'd grown up in.

His granddaddy had built it, according to his dad. Way back during the Great Depression. It might have been impressive at some point, but after years of neglect, the once-white paint was a dingy, mud-colored beige, the carved railings on the wrap around porch broken, the gardens long since overrun by weeds…

But the inside was worse.

"Well? What you waitin' for? Invitation?" Savannah asked sarcastically, getting out. "Thought you wanted to see you brother, you."

Merle snorted. "See that truck, Frenchie?" He asked, pointing to an old, rusted out blue Dodge sitting by the side of the house. "That's my ol' man's truck. Which means Daryl ain't in the house, unless he's gotten a helluva lot stupider in three months."

"So… what? We gon' just sit an' stare at de house? Ol' Frenchie's ass be hurtin' somethin’ fierce from sittin' in this damn jeep for eight  _heures_."

"Fine. Get out, walk around, stretch ya damn legs if ya want, but you keep your ass  _out here_ ," Merle snapped, exiting the truck.

"What, you not gon' introduce ol' Frenchie?"

"No. Stay outside."

He ignored the hurt look that flashed across Savannah's face as he stomped up towards the house. She could be as hurt as she wanted, there was no way he was letting her meet his old man. If he'd had any sort of vehicle, he wouldn't have even let her come as close to the house as she had, but since he had had to leave his bike behind when he went to boot camp...

He grimaced as he opened the flimsy door, the smell wafting out worse than he'd remembered.  _Rotten food, stale beer and piss definitely wasn't a smell he'd missed back at Basic. Sad state of things when thirty men sharin’ a room smelled better than your own home._

"Pop?" He called out cautiously, swinging the door closed behind him. "Pop, you here?"

"Merle? That you, boy?" Came the drunken, slurred voice of his father from the living room.

Merle shook his head as he stepped into the living room. Pop was sitting right where he'd left him, like the old man hadn't even moved while he was gone. The ever-present pile of beer cans, whiskey bottles, and cigarette butts still lay on the floor, scattered around a few pizza boxes that were growing mold.

"Where the hell you been, boy? I'm supposed ta take ya ta the airport tomorrow," Harold Dixon muttered, glaring at Merle with those blood-shot blue eyes. "Can't miss ya first day a basic."

Merle sighed. "Pop, that was three months ago. I graduated last week."

"Wha'?! Quit your fuckin' shittin', ya bastard. Got it marked... marked on the calendar... On the fridge. May 24th, an' that's tomorrow!"

"It's  _September_ , Pop!" Merle said through gritted teeth, before shaking his head again. "Ya know what? Never fuckin' mind. Where the hell's Daryl?" At his dad's quizzical look, Merle cursed. "Shit, Pop, c'mon! Daryl? Ya  _other_  big 'disappointment'? The ' _little'_  bastard? Any a this ringin' a goddamn bell in that stupid skull a yours?!"

"Don't ya give me none a that smart-ass mouth a yours, boy, or I'll tan your ass," Harold slurred, glancing around the chair. Probably looking for his belt, Merle thought darkly, as he scoffed.

"Yeah, sure, Pop. Like ya can even lift ya fat ass outta that damn chair, ya so drunk," Merle said scornfully.

"Always a smart-ass. Jus' like ya damn mama. Always disrespectful. S'where that shithead little brother a yours gets it from, ya know!"

Leaning back against the archway into the living room, Merle folded his arms across his chest, running with his father's temporary moment of clarity. "Yeah, Pop: the ' _shithead little brother_ '. Where the fuck is he?"

Harold's brow wrinkled in confusion, his head lolling to the side a bit, clearly trying to think.

"Might... might still be in... in the basement," He finally said slowly.

" ' _Still_ '?" Merle said sharply. "The fuck you mean ' _still_ '? How fuckin' long he been down there?! Fuck!" He didn't even wait for a response as he raced towards the back of the house, and into the small pantry that lead down into the basement. When he seen the that the deadbolt was still locked, his cursing began anew as he undid the lock, throwing the door open.

"Daryl? You down here, boy?" He called as he carefully made his way down the steps in the dark, the single light bulb having been blown for as long he could remember. "Daryl?"

"Me... Merle?"

He quickly pinpointed the weak voice as having come from the corner, and he gingerly started that way, careful to test each step so he wouldn't end up stepping on the poor kid. As his eyes slowly began to adjust, he could just barely make out the outline of his little brother laying curled up in a ball against the wall behind the old freezer.

"Shit," He cussed softly, kneeling down next to the small body. "How long he kept ya down here this time, little brother?"

Daryl gasped a little as Merle picked him up, and cradled him close to his chest. The boy couldn't have weighed much more than sixty pounds, and Merle could feel just about every one of the ten year old's ribs jutting out from beneath his over-sized tee shirt, he realized angrily.

"Almost... almost a week? Since... since Tuesday... Got... got water... from the pipes..."

Merle's hands tightened around Daryl's emaciated body as he moved back up the stairs.  _Tuesday_. It was Thursday, and given Daryl's shitty state, Merle was pretty sure the kid didn't mean ' _day before yesterday_ ' Tuesday.  _Fuck_. " 'M sorry, little brother," He muttered, wincing as Daryl's face scrunched up in pain from the sudden exposure to light as Merle carried him into the kitchen. "Never should a left ya here."

* * *

 

Savannah was already a few minutes past ' _bored_ ', and was starting to work her way towards ' _pissed_ ' as she drummed her fingers on the hood of her jeep, flicking her cigarette almost constantly in her agitation.

She wondered what the hell Merle's problem was. Was he embarrassed 'cause the house looked damn near ready to fall over? She snorted at that thought, flicking her butt into the rocky driveway. She'd grown up in stick-cabins in the swamps for a good part of her life; a house weren't nothin' to be embarrassed by, no matter what it looked like.

Maybe his old man didn't like Cajuns. She found that a little unlikely, given how few people even knew about her 'kind', but it was possible, she supposed. Given Merle's obvious racism towards colored folk, it was probably the reason, she decided.

 _Well... Ain't never let 'lil ol' thing like dat stop me 'fore,_  she thought with a grin, as she pushed off the hood of the jeep.

"Dixon! Ol'  _chere_  ain't gon' sit out here in the hot sun all day, waitin' on you!" She called loudly, taking a few steps towards the house.

But she froze for a moment when Merle appeared on the porch, carrying a small boy in his arms.

" _Maudit_ , what de hell happen to him?!" She demanded, rushing up the steps to Merle's side.

"None a ya damn business, Frenchie," Merle growled, ignoring her as he moved towards her jeep. "Let's jus' get outta here, a'ight?"

Savannah let out a large breathe as she climbed in the driver side, sparing Merle only a sideways glance as he got in, still keeping the  _petit garcon_  folded up on his lap.

" _Mais_... Where we goin', us?" She asked as she turned the vehicle around, and started back down the driveway.

"There's a little hotel back towards the highway. Pull in there."


	5. Homecoming II

Merle took a deep breath as they pulled into the Dew Drop Inn motel, a feeling of déjà vu washing over him as Savannah parked, and shut the jeep off.

Both him and Daryl had spent a lot of time at the Dew Drop (which was about as low class and cheap as it sounded), patching up their war wounds, and getting a good night’s sleep whenever Pop had come home from one of his benders angrier than a wolverine with a tooth ache. The old woman who ran the place for her husband –Mrs. Jenkins –was about the only person in the small town of Amboy who hadn’t treated the two brothers like the scum of the earth.

Or, to be more accurate, the only person who didn’t treat the Dixon boys like the way they treated their old man.

But she’d always accepted whatever pocket change Merle could scrounge up, never saying a word, just handing them the key to room number 9 with a small, sad smile. She never said anything, never gave them the pity speech, or nothing like that.

Merle had been seventeen when he finally realized exactly what the old woman would do for them though. Up until then, he’d never thought about the fully stocked first aid kit that was always waiting in the room for them, or how he’d never had to pay for the cartoon channels –a real luxury for Daryl, who was rarely allowed to even look at the TV at home, much less watch cartoons. The oldest Dixon had never really considered that most people probably didn’t find Pop-Tarts, and Snickers candy bars waiting for them in their room either.

One time, Merle had limped his way into the small lobby area, one eye swollen shut, nose broken, and blood still seeping out of the large gash on his forehead, and given the lady all the money he had –a whole whopping thirteen dollars of it –before going out, and carrying a far-too still and bloody Daryl into the small bedroom.

It was an hour later when his heart nearly leaped out of his throat when there was a knock on the door, his first thought being ‘Pop’, quickly followed by ‘cops’. He’d waited a minute, hoping whoever was would go away, when he’d heard the knock again. Daryl had looked up at Merle, terror filling his baby-blue eyes, waiting for the inevitable fall out.

_“Lock yourself in the bathroom, boy, an’ don’t come out unless I say. Ya hear me? Don’t care what happens, you don’t open that door for no one but me, ya hear?” He’d ordered quietly, giving his brother a gentle shove towards the bathroom door. He’d waited just long enough to the hear the lock click, before he’d braced himself, and opened the door a bit._

_“I’ve got a large pizza, extra pepperoni?” The kid said, looking bored._

_Merle’s jaw nearly fell to the floor in his shock. “Didn’t order no pizza,” He finally muttered, physically having to stop himself from leaning closer to the delicious smell, mouth watering desperately._

_“The lady at the desk said it was room nine… Merle and Daryl Dixon?”_

_“I uh… I ain’t got any money.”_

_“Mrs. Jenkins at the desk paid for it.”_

 “What now, cher?”

Savannah’s quiet voice pulled Merle from his memories, and he spared the woman beside him a quick glance, before glancing down at Daryl.

“Gonna go get a room, kid. Ya stay here, an’ I’ll be back in a sec, a’ight?” He said quietly, trying to ignore the scared look in his brother’s eyes.

“Please… Don’t leave me ‘gain, Merle,” Daryl begged, his voice weak as his fingers dug into Merle’s denim jacket. “Please.”

“Hey now, none a that shit, ya hear me, b oy? Just gonna get us a room for the night, an’ I’ll be right back. You just stay in the jeep with Frenchie, an’ you’ll be fine. She ain’t gonna hurt ya none.”

He didn't wait for a response, knowing that one more second of staring into those desperate, pleading eyes, and he wouldn't be able to let his little brother out of his arms again.

 

* * *

 

Savannah kept her movements slow, and her hands in sight as much as possible as she lit herself a cigarette, trying to ignore the little _boug_ staring at her fearfully, huddled against the door panel, trying to stay as far away from her as possible.

“ _Mais_ , you must be Daryl, non?” She asked softly, giving the boy a smile. “You brother told me all about you, him did. Back when we was in boot camp together. Merle say you one o’ de toughest _petit garcons_ him ever known.” When she got no response, she trudged ahead anyways, careful to keep her voice as light as possible. “Ol’ Frenchie, she got a few little brothers, her does. Think you probably ‘bout de same age as Adolphe an’ Olivier, you. Though, they’s both a ‘lil bit bigger then you.”

"I'm ten."

Savannah forced her smile into a look of amazement. " _Vraiment_? _Dieu_ , but you is mighty big for ten whole years. You must take after you brother, huh? Ol' Merle... Mais, Frenchie ain't met a tougher _homme_. Used to throw 'round all dose damn yank _salauds_ we trained with, him did."

And with those words, she knew she had the young boy hooked. Just like her own little brothers and sisters did with her, the boy obviously worshiped his older brother.

 She had to fight to keep from chuckling as Daryl pulled himself up a little straighter, the pride in his voice unmistakable, as he boasted, "Merle's toughest sum bitch 'round. Everybody says so. They say ain’t nobody meaner than him in a fight."

“S’that what they say, now? _Mais_ , let ol’ chere tell you somethin’, _boug_ : you brother is one o’ de toughest fils de putain anywhere, he is.

"Does dey, now? Mais, let ol 'chere tell you some'tin, garcon: you brudder one o' de toughest _fils de putain_ anywhere, him."

"Who ya callin' a bitch, Frenchie? Ya better not be talkin' bad 'bout me ta my little brother," Merle said, his voice filled with forced amusement as he leaned on the door of the jeep.

"Oh, come on now, cher; would ol' Savannah say a thing like that?"

Merle snorted as he climbed in, lightly shoving Daryl to the middle. "In a damn heartbeat, Frenchie. Our room's out back. Park on the side."

* * *

Merle was assailed by the memories –most of them real unpleasant –as he stepped into room number 9. Nothing had really changed much. Beds still had the most ugly fucking floral blankets he’d ever seen, the walls still had the dingy, faded floral wallpaper, the cheap-as-shit, ready-to-fall-apart nightstand, and the same old-as-dirt TV on the dinged and chipped dresser across from the beds.

“Pick a bed, kid,” He grunted, glancing down at Daryl, who was holding onto him for dear life. “Then strip down to ya undershorts.”

Daryl silently complied, the routine being a familiar one as he went to the bed farthest away from the door, sitting down gingerly as he bent over, and began tugging on his boots.

"Mon Dieu," Savannah grumbled, elbowing Merle out of the way as she moved closer to the bed, only sparing him a passing glare before kneeling down next to Daryl's feet. "You just sit you self back on that bed, _boug_ ," She instructed, unlacing his boots, and gently pulling them off, quickly followed by his socks. "Unzip you pants." When Daryl slowly complied, she eased the too-small jeans off, and Merle could see her face harden at the mess of bruises covering his little brother's stick-thin legs, before she reached up, and helped him pull his shirt off, leaving Daryl in a pair of dirty, dingy white boxers. "Merle, go get ol' chere de first aid kit from de jeep."

Merle growled a bit at being ordered around, but in all honesty, he really didn't want to even look at his younger brother. The bruises and welts were all too familiar; hell, he'd seen enough of 'em on himself. Didn't need or want to see him Daryl, he thought darkly as he rummaged through Savannah's backpack, and pulling out the tin container with the red cross.

 He paused for a moment in the doorway to the room, a small lump building in his throat as he watched the scene before him. Savannah had gotten a wet washcloth – more like a rag, really, he thought with a snort – and was gently running it over Daryl's dirt-stained face, before she moved down to his arms, and finally his legs, moving quickly, but softly.

"Here," He muttered, tossing the kit onto the bed next to Daryl. "I need a smoke."

* * *

 

"Is Merle mad at me?"

Savannah looked up from the nasty scratch on the kid's leg, pausing her ministrations. " _Ain_? Why would you say such a thing, you?"

" 'Cause he looks mad," The child responded simply, staring up at her with the prettiest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

Savannah sighed as she went back to rubbing ointment on the cut. "Non, honey chile; ol' Merle ain't mad at you."

"Then why's he mad?"

" _Mais_... think him mad 'cause someone done hurt you, an' he weren't there to help you, him," She said slowly. "Him mad for you; not at you. That make sense?"

Daryl scrunched up his nose a little bit. "A little. I guess."

"Trust ol' Frenchie, boo: when you get older, you understand better, _oui_? Now climb up there under dose sheets, an' close them eyes, you. Frenchie turn on the TV for you."

 

* * *

Merle was kneeling in the parking lot, wishing for a whiskey instead of the cheap, piss-ass beer Savannah kept in the back of the jeep as he alternated between chugging from the can, and taking large puffs off the cigarette.

" _Vomment ca vas_?"

 Merle snorted loudly as Savannah knelt down next to him. "I'm pissed, Frenchie; how the hell ya think I feel?"

 " _Pardon_ , cher. Jus'... Mon Dieu, Merle. What the hell happen to him, huh?"

 "Our ol' man," Merle muttered darkly. "Same thing as always fuckin’ happens. Never should a fuckin' left him there. I jus'..." He paused, running his hands over his short blond hair. " _Shit_ , Frenchie... Pop had him locked up in that damn basement, an' jus' _forgot_ 'bout him for nine _fuckin'_ days. What if I hadn't a come home? Fuck, the damn drunk fool didn't even realize I was fuckin' gone for three months."

He was surprised when he felt Savannah's hand on his shoulder. "Maw Maw always say, what is, is. You did come back, you. An' ol' chere don' think him gon' be worse for wear."

"Yeah, for tonight maybe. What the hell am I gonna do _tomorrow_? Next week? Shit, what the hell am I gonna do when I'm in fuckin' _Iraq_ for thirteen _months_?"

Savannah sighed, and lay her head against his shoulder. "Wish I had the answers for you, _mon cher_. But I don’t. But I do know one thing: as far as next week, an’ the week after? _Merde_ , if you ol' man didn't know you was gone for three months, him, why don' we jus' take Daryl with us to Louisiana? Hell, my folks got so many damn brats runnin' 'round, them, they ain't gon' notice another one for few weeks."


	6. Family and Burgers

Merle frowned as Savannah pulled the cigarette from his lips, and took a long drag, exhaling a perfect smoke ring as she settled back on her heels.

"That's my cigarette," He grumbled, taking a sip of his beer.

"Oui? An' that's ol' chere's beer. So what you say, huh? Ain't like we had some place special we was goin', us. Take your brother, an' Frenchie show you Dixon boys 'round the Bayous."

"I ain't a fuckin' charity case, Lantier. An' neither is Daryl," Merle spat, ripping the cigarette out of her hand.

"So what then? You's think 'cause Ah wan' go see mah own  _petit_  brothers an' sisters, that make you's charity?  _Mon Dieu_ , but you's a stubborn ol'  _salaud_ , you. Besides... ain't nothin’ wrong with some charity now an' then. My whole  _famille_  jus' one big charity case, us. Hell, ol'  _chere_  grew up livin' in stick cabins mos' o' her life. My  _pere_ , him bounce from job to job whole time I growin' up. Mama took jobs washin' an' cleanin' for the richy rich o' the town, an' me an my older brother both dropped out o' the school to help out. Even then... nine kids, paw paw, maw maw, an' mee maw to take care o'... If people hadn't helped us out, many a night when my  _petit_  brothers an' sisters would o' went hungry, them." She paused for a moment, checking her various pockets, before pulling out a pack of Camels from the chest pocket of her over shirt.

Merle scoffed. "Yeah, well, sorry, ' _chere_ ', but that ain't how I was raised. I don't need your damn charity, or your fuckin' pity."

Savannah growled low in her throat as she stood. "Oh,  _mais_ , if that be the case then, Dixon, lets just take Daryl back to you place. You can spend the rest o' you miserable life there, tryin' to keep you brother safe. Or least, you can spend the next three months frettin' an' worryin'. I'll jus' get in my truck, an' leave, I will. An' you can sit here, an' try an' figure you shit out all on you own-some, you can. Miserable fuckin'  _salaud_. Sit here an' have you fuckin' 'pity party'. You  _non_  like pity? Bagh! You sittin' there, feelin' nine kinds o' sorry for you self, tellin' ol' Savannah you  _non_  like pity, you," She snapped, throwing her cigarette to the ground, and stomping back towards the hotel room. "You decide you wanna be a big boug, an' do what bes' for you brother, you come let Frenchie know!"

She was shocked when she felt Merle's large hand grab her shoulder, as he whipped her back around, and she found herself standing nose to nose with him.

"You don't know shit, Savannah." His voice was low, but his words seemed to thunder in his rage. "You got no idea what it’s like growin' up with an ol' man who locks ya up in the basement every time he brings one a his whores home. Ya don't know what it's like to be belted so bad ya can't hardly move, but ya get up anyways, 'cause ya know if ya don't, he's gonna take it out on ya mama, or ya little brother. I spent my whole goddamned life takin' care a that kid, so don't you fuckin' dare sit there an' get all high an' mighty with me!"

She ripped her arm out of his grasp, and stepped closer, forcing him back a step.

"Don' you dare sit there an' say Ah don' know 'bout givin' up mah life for my  _famille_. Why you think I join the fuckin' marines, huh? I joined so my mama an' daddy could make the bills, them. Put food on the table. I dropped out o' fuckin' school, started workin' as fuckin' waitress! I give up everythin’ for my damn  _famille_! An' you think you the only one wid problems? You  _avocat bibitte_!

"An' non, my daddy never laid hands on me, him, but I grew up... wha' you call it? 'Po white trash'? Got teased every day, me. People in town look at me an' my famille like we was scum of the earth. Kids used to throw fuckin'  _bricks_  at me, an' my brothers an' sisters. Whenever somethin’ went wrong ‘round town, ‘cause we was just ‘coon-asses’. So don' you fuckin' dare sit dere an' tell me, Ah don' know no'tin 'bout life bein' 'tough', me," She spat, shoving him back another step. "But I keep goin', 'cause I know that I gotta do whatever the hell I gotta do for my  _famille_. So you jus' suck up you fuckin'  _fierte_ , an' you do whatever the fuck it takes to do right by that  _petit garcon_  in dere!

"You 'tink it were ' _easy_ ' or some  _merde_  on me ta be one o' only seven women wid four hundred  _hommes_? 'Tink it were ' _easy_ ' puttin' up wid all the  _merde_  dem  _bougs_  give me? Every day, I wanted to go back home to mah swamps, see my  _famille_. Get so homesick, me, I wanna cry. But I suck it up, me, an' I keep goin' 'cause das what you do for you  _famille_. You fuckin' do whatever the hell it takes, an' it don' madder how 'barrassing it is, or how much it fuckin' suck, you suck it up, an' you just fuckin' do it!"

Merle drew back, as if she'd slapped him, his eyes huge, staring for a few minutes, his jaw moving up and down, before he bolted into the encroaching darkness.

Savannah stared after him for a minute, before turning on her heel, and storming back into the motel room.

* * *

 

PRESENT TIME

"Yeah. Yeah, Daryl's still 'round. Least whys, he was the mornin' those shitheads handcuffed me to that roof. He stayed behind, some shit 'bout gettin' some food for the damn brats," Merle said with a snort, leaning back in the chair, and folding his arms across his chest, wincing as the stump hit his other arm. "You know how he was. Damn bleedin' heart, class A softy when it comes ta kids."

"Kids?" Savannah's eyes narrowed. "What kids?"

"Shit, we was with a whole damn group up by the old reservoir, Frenchie. Must a been at least twenty-five, maybe thirty a us livin' up there. 'Bout ten snot-faced little shits runnin' 'round everywhere, always gettin' under foot, gettin’ into everythin’."

Savannah frowned. "Why the hell ya stayin' with a group? You ain't exactly the friendly type, you," She added, pushing off the counter, and sitting down across the table from him.

Merle grunted as he started bouncing his foot up and down on the floor, and Savannah smiled as she heard the tap-tap-tap noise, the old familiar habit a comforting one.

"Daryl. Damn fool spun some shit 'bout bein' safer in a group, like we didn't both know that was a crock a horse shit. But ya know how he gets when he sets his mind ta somethin'. Ain't no movin' him."

Savannah chuckled. "Oui. Always was a stubborn little shit, him was. Must run in the _famillle_ , non? So… dis group. Daryl in trouble, him?"

She didn't miss the flash of worry in Merle's eyes, before he shrugged, and put a playful smile on his face. "Hell, ya know Daryl; he'll be fine. Kid knows ta keep his head down, an' ride it out. But I figured… maybe tomorrow mornin', we head up to the reservoir, see if we spot him. They don't know you, so you's can go in, find Daryl, an' get him outta there."

Savannah sighed. "Oui, guess ol' chere can do that for you. Maybe rough up that cop who lock you on that roof while I’m there,” She added with a dark grin.

Merle gave her a dark smile of his own. “Oh, don’t you worry none, Frenchie; Officer Friendly gonna get what’s comin’ to him.”

* * *

 

17 Years Earlier

"What's yer name?"

Savannah was surprised when she heard Daryl's raspy voice from across the room.

"What you doing still awake, honey chile?" She asked, forcing a soft smile to her face as she turned. " _Petit garcons_  like you need to be 'sleep."

"Sorry," He said quickly, turning over on the bed to face the wall.

She bit her lip as she sat down, turning him to face her, and running her hand through his hair. "Non, you ain't in trouble,  _boug_ ," She said quietly. "What you still doin' up? You scared?"

"N-n-no. Jus'… I'm hungry."

"You hungry?  _Mais_ , we can't have that now, can we? What you want, huh? Ol' Frenchie's treat. You name it, an' we'll go get it." Savannah frowned worriedly as the kid shot up, wincing a little, and holding one hand to his head as he swayed a bit. "You alright there, honey chile?"

"M'fine. Jus' ain't eaten in a while," The boy mumbled, reaching for his clothes on the other side of the bed, and pulling them on slowly.

"When the last time you eat, you?" Savannah asked as she helped him into his shirt.

"Had a bag of Cheetos at school on Tuesday, 'fore Pop locked me in the basement," Daryl said after thinking for a minute. "An' he threw me down some crackers after a few days."

Savannah flinched at the completely normal way the boy said it, like it was no big deal. Although, thinking back to what Merle had said, maybe it was a normal thing.

" _Mais_ , you must be pretty damn hungry then,  _non_?" She forced herself to say, trying to keep her voice as light as she could as she helped him tie his shoes. "What you in the mood for?"

Daryl's brow wrinkled as he thought, tilting his head a bit. "Maybe… maybe burgers?"

"Sounds good to ol' Frenchie. You know where we go to get good burgers 'round here?" She asked with a laugh as they left the room, her guiding him towards her jeep with a hand on his shoulder.

"Uh… yeah, there's a diner further in town. Ya get back on the highway, an' go down an exit, an' then take a left. It's right on the main road."

"Alright then. Let's go get us some burgers,  _oui_?"

Daryl gave her a grin, and even though she didn't know why, his happy, excited face was almost more heart-breaking than anything she'd heard yet. That he could be so excited about some freaking burgers.

"What 'bout Merle?"

Savannah forced herself to smile at the boy as she turned the key, and started the engine. "Don' you worry 'bout it none, you. You brother just… he just need some time to think, him. He gon' be here when we get back, _oui_?"

"You's lyin'," The boy said quietly. "He's mad at me, I know he is. He always says that… That I need ta stand up ta Pop. 'Fore he left… He tol' me I need ta start fightin' back; he said that's why Pop don't go after him no more, 'cause he fights back."

"Boo… I don' know… Look, Merle ain't mad at you. Him just trying to figure out what he gon' do to keep you _pere_ from hurtin' you more. He just need some time to think, him."

"You think I'm a pussy?"

"Why you say such things 'bout ol'  _chere_ , you? I don' think any such thing, me," She said firmly, keeping her eyes on the road as she merged onto the highway. "You jus' a  _petit_   _boug_ , you. Can't fight back 'gainst an adult, you can't. Look… Ol' Frenchie had some experience with bullies, her. Sometimes you can fight tjem, but other times… All you can do is pick you self up, brush off the dirt, an' move on. Win some, lose some, you know? That don' make you a pussy."

"That's not what Merle says. He says only pussies don't fight back. But… When I do, Pop gets… He… It jus' don't end well," He finished quietly, staring out the window.

Well,  _merde_ , she thought, pulling onto the exit. That was a tough situation, and no mistake. She knew she had to tread carefully. Outright tell him that Merle was wrong, and – if Daryl was anything like her siblings – he'd close off completely. But tell him Merle was right…

"Daryl… No  _garcon_  should have to go through what your  _pere_  do to you. Ain't right. Ain't no 'right', no 'wrong' for what a little _boug_ like you do ‘bout it. What works for Merle… Well, you brother is lot bigger then you. You still small. Hard to fight back when someone bigger then you hurts you. But what you  _pere_  do to you… It ain't you fault. Hey!" She snapped good-naturedly, but allowing a small edge to creep into her voice when she glanced over at him. "Don' you roll you eyes at ol' Frenchie."

"Is that yer real name? 'Frenchie'?"

She sighed as she shut the jeep off. "Savannah. My name's Savannah."


	7. Too Bad

"So you think you ready to be travelin' again, you?"

Merle grunted as he looked up at Savannah, who was standing in the doorway, a Cheshire-cat grin on her face.

"I'm as good as I'm ever gonna be," He growled, glaring at her.

"Hmm. Ol' Frenchie  jus’a 'lil curious, cher: just how ‘xcactly you plan on tyin' you boots?"

Merle glared at her for a moment. "Ain't figured that out yet. Don't ya have somebody's dog ta go an’ cook?"

She shook her head as she knelt in front of his feet, her thin little fingers quickly lacing up his boots as she sighed. "Tellin' you, cher: you _non_ ready yet. Still need few days for healin', you do."

"What do I gotta do ta prove it to ya, Frenchie? Kick yer ass a few times? 'Cause that's what I'm gonna do if ya don't shut yer damn mouth."

She gave him a sly smile as she stood, folding her arms across her chest. "Any time you thinkin’ you ready, cher, ol' Frenchie kick yo ass all 'round dis place, her will."

"Now you just go 'head, an' you order whatever you want, you," Savannah said firmly as they slid into a booth in the old diner. "Ol' Frenchie's treat."

"Can I get a milkshake?"

"I done told you, _boug_ : anything you want." She smiled as his big blue eyes lit up, practically dancing for joy. "You got you brother’s eyes, you do. Very pretty eyes, them."

"What, ya sayin' Merle's pretty?" The boy asked with a sly grin.

Savannah mock-frowned at him. "Oh, you gon' make the _miserie_ for ol' chere, you are." She stopped as the waitress walked up to them, pen held expectantly over her pad. "I'll have a burger with cheese, onions, peppers, an' tomatoes, an' a coke."

"Alright. An' how 'bout you, son?"

Daryl looked at her hesitantly, before asking, "Can I get a burger, with mayonnaise, ketchup, an' pickles? An' a chocolate milkshake?"

"Two burgers, a coke, an' a milkshake, comin' right up."

"So what grade you in, _boug_?" Savannah asked as the waitress wandered off.

"Fourth. I got held back last year. Merle was real pissed 'bout it; said Mrs. Bradshaw only held me back 'cause she was still pissed 'bout him stealin' her car a few years ago. Him an' Pop had a real big fight 'bout it. Pop said it was jus' 'cause I was stupid, an' Merle got real mad at him."

"Did you an' your 'Pop' have a fight too?"

She didn't miss the shudder, the slight wince right before he shrugged. "Weren't nothin'. So where you from anyways? Ain't never heard somebody talk like you before."

"Wha’, choo ain't never met a Cajun 'fore, you? From Louisiana, Ah am. De Bayous,” She said, making her accent thick, and adding a mysterious tone, giving him a smile. But he ignored her, staring at her face intently.

"You an' Merle sleepin' together?"

The shock on her face was real as she sat back in the booth, a small frown on her face. " _Non_. An' you too young to be t'inkin' 'bout t'ings like dat, you is. You shouldn't even know what dat _is_."

"Why not? You's pretty. Don't ya like men? Or you a lesbian?"

Instantly, Daryl regretted his words. Even though he hadn't meant to offend Savannah, she looked really, really pissed as she leaned forward, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"S'cuse me? How 'bout you shut you damn mouth, you, 'fore Ah decide you don't really need dat burger, hmm?" She said quietly.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean nothin' by it, I swear! I'm sorry!" He said quickly, huddling back in the seat, praying that she wouldn't follow through with her threat. "I didn't mean nothin'."

He breathed a sigh of relief as the woman sat back again, a small smile on her face, almost kinda sad.

"I know you didn't, you. But dat ain't de way ta talk ta a fille, non. Ain't t'ings you ask in public. Hell, ain't t'ings  _petit_   _garcons_  like you should _ever_ ask, but 'specially not in public, _oui_?"

"A'ight. I said I'm sorry. I won't say nothin' no more, promise."

Merle always said that Daryl's biggest problem was that he never knew when to shut his damn mouth. But Daryl just didn't understand why Savannah had gotten so mad; wasn't like he'd said anything mean; hell, he'd just asked her a simple question.

And a damn good question too. Women were always falling all over Merle, like fleas on an old dog; ever since Merle had started middle school, he'd brought girls home, sometimes three or four a week. Daryl wasn't sure why, although Pop had always acted like it was to be expected. Acted like it was some kind of great thing, always chuckling and slapping Merle on the back. Was probably the only time Daryl ever saw Pop happy with his older brother, whenever Merle showed up with a girl, always smiling, and congratulating him like he'd won something.

"Hey, ol' Frenchie didn't mean you couldn't talk at all. What you like in school, huh?"

Daryl frowned, but kept his mouth closed, wrapping his arms around his waist as he glanced towards the kitchen, wondering where the hell the damn waitress was with his food.

Savannah sighed, knowing she'd screwed up as Daryl curled in on himself, all signs of the easy-going kid who was excited to have a burger gone. He'd shoved himself into the corner of the booth, and was watching her warily, blue eyes filled with suspicion.

"So… what? Now you non gon' talk to ol' Frenchie no more?"

* * *

 

Merle hadn't really thought about where he was going when he stomped off. He'd just... left. Needed air, or some stupid shit like that. Just needed some damn space to breath, to try and figure out how the hell he was gonna figure his way out of the mess he found himself in. Needed to get away from Savannah before he said something stupid that he'd have regretted later. Hadn't had a destination, other than 'away'.

So he was a little surprised when he found himself staring at his house. The house he'd grown up in. The house his mama had died in.

The house him and Daryl had spent their entire lives being tortured in.

He couldn't bring himself to take the few steps that would put him on the porch. The few feet that would put him inside the door.

The old man was passed out somewhere inside, laying in his own piss and puke. No 'maybe', or 'probably' about it; he'd seen it just about every night of his damn life before he'd left for boot camp. He'd be laying somewhere on the floor, surrounded by beer cans and whiskey bottles, stinking like a swamp in June. Maybe he'd have made his way into the kitchen, or the bathroom; more likely, he'd passed out in the front hallway.

Somewhere inside that fucking house.

How many nights had he spent locked in that damn basement? How many nights had him and Daryl gone hungry in that fucking basement, locked in, and forgotten after their parents passed out? How many nights had he laid awake, listening to the screams, and the fights, the crashing and stumbling from downstairs?

His frown deepened. How many years had it been since his mother had died? Passed out drunk with a cigarette in her mouth while he was locked up in juvie?

Daryl had just started school, he remembered that. He'd missed his little brother's first day of school because of his sentencing hearing. So had to be about five years. Maybe closer to six. Not that it really mattered any; wasn't like life had been any better before she'd died.

The stupid little  _bitch_. She'd always whined and cried about how hard life was, how much hell him and Daryl had given her, how Harold and the boys had ruined her damn life.

Like she hadn't turned around and ruined his and Daryl's life right back. Annie Dixon had been just as like to smack her boys around as Harold was. Until he'd gotten bigger than her, Merle had been more wary of Annie's hair-trigger temper, her outbursts of rage than he had of his father. At least with his father, the old man was always in a bad mood; he knew what to expect. With Annie, her mood could –and would –go from happy to delivering an ass whooping in a matter of seconds.

His hand went up to his still-nearly bald head, feeling at the long scar that ran from the back of his ear to the back of his head, stopping just above his hairline. He'd gotten that courtesy of a plate she'd cracked over his skull when he was twelve.

All because he hadn't been able to stop Daryl from crying quick enough. Like it was Merle's damn fault they didn't have anything to eat in the whole fucking house. He'd tried walking him, tried playing peek-a-boo... Hell, he'd been just about desperate enough to try singing when he'd caught sight of Annie out of the corner of his eye.

He'd still been holding his little brother, his efforts to shush him turning frantic, when he felt the dish connect with his head.

He wasn't sure how long he'd blacked out for. When he'd come to, Daryl had been squirming underneath him, still screeching bloody murder, both of them coated in Merle's blood. Annie was gone, apparently choosing to leave over listening to Daryl, leaving Merle to clean them both up. Clean up the kitchen floor after he'd managed to get Daryl to sleep. Crawl onto the small twin mattress he shared with his little brother, head still bleeding, praying to God he wouldn't wake up the next morning.

One of many  _fond_  memories, he thought darkly, still glaring at the house. Too bad the whole damn thing hadn't burnt down to ash along with Annie.

Too bad Pop hadn't been in there, passed out beside her on the bed.

And sometimes... Sometimes, he briefly thought that it was too bad he and Daryl hadn't been locked in the basement. That they hadn't burnt down to nothing along with the whore who'd given birth to them, and then thrown them to the wolves.

It was pushing on three o'clock when Savannah heard the door open.

Daryl hadn't spoken to her the rest of the night, although that hadn't stopped him from curling up next to her on the bed, falling asleep on her arm.

She hadn't been able to sleep. She'd tried telling herself that it was the cartoons still flashing across the old TV set, but she knew even if she shut the damn thing off, she wouldn't have gotten any sleep.

"How's he doin'?"

She shrugged up at Merle, who stared down at her bleary-eyed, his face carefully blank.

"Fell 'sleep after we came back from the diner. Went an' got few burgers, we did. Didn't think ta bring you back something though; sorry."

"S'fine. I jus'… had ta go an' clear my head, ya know?"

She opened her mouth to say something, when Daryl shifted beside her, a small frown crossing his face in his sleep. Almost without thinking, her hand moved to his head, brushing his long, dark hair off of his face, before turning back to Merle.

"So what's de plan, huh?" She asked quietly, watching as Merle collapsed on the other bed, scrubbing at his face with both hands, looking far older than his twenty-one years.

"Guess I'm gonna have to learn to speak French," Came the muttered reply.

She ducked her head, careful not to let him see her smile as she pulled Daryl a little closer to her, closing her eyes, the exhaustion of the long day finally catching up to her.


	8. Long Road

Merle sighed, gratefully stretching his legs as he stepped out of the jeep. Ten hours locked in a vehicle with Daryl bouncing off the damn walls every step of the way, jabbering on about everything and nothing, and Frenchie blathering on back to him, encouraging the damn brat.

Although he'd kept the grumbling to a minimum. Even though it annoyed the tar out of him, listening to the kid prattle on with questions – _non-stop fucking questions, a new one every mile it seemed_ – it'd been nice to see his baby brother actually acting like a kid. Like every other kid in America who wasn't afraid to death of being whooped on.

So he'd been careful to keep his grumbling light, with only an occasional eye roll when Daryl would ask something extra stupid.

But it was all over. Finally.

Although, as he glanced around, he noticed that there weren't any houses in sight, unless...

"You live in a damn boat shop, Frenchie?" He asked, the building offering 'Cheap Boat Rentals' being the only structure close by.

She snorted as she walked down onto the docks. "Non; my  _famille_  ain't that poor. C'mon," She said impatiently, throwing her and Daryl's bag – a small backpack they'd bought at Wal-Mart, and filled with clothes from the same store – into a small...

"No fuckin' way, Frenchie," Merle snapped, taking a step back towards the jeep. "I ain't gettin' no damn canoe."

"Only way to my house,  _cher_. An' it's _non_ a canoe; it’ss a  _pirogue_. Now c'mon; ain't got all day waitin' on you. Ol' chere wants to see her _famille_ , she does. So get your fat ass in the pirogue."

"Merle don't like boats," Daryl piped in, and Merle glared at his little brother, silently damning the brat to hell as the little pipsqueak clambered onto the small canoe, settling himself in the front of the damn thing, grinning at Merle, looking right at home.

"Oh for the love of... I grew up in dis damn boat, _cher_ ; perfectly safe, I promise."

"Yeah, 'cause the thought a _you_ bein' responsible for me bein' safe is such a comfortin' one, Frenchie," Merle snorted, still not moving towards the boat. "There's gotta be another way."

"Oh, _oui_ , there is. You can circle back 'round to County Route 9, and hike the twenty miles through the woods, and swamp. But even I get lost out there sometimes; probably never even find your body, we won’t," She said with a grin, staring at him expectantly.

"C'mon, Merle!" Daryl said impatiently. "Savannah said her mom's makin' a really good dinner for when we get there!"

"Just a boat, cher."

"Fine!" Merle snapped, moving down the dock, and cautiously getting into the boat. "But I swear ta God, Frenchie, you tip this damn boat, I'm gonna haunt you for the rest a your goddamn life, ya hear?"

"Lighten up, you _bebe_ ," Savannah said, rolling her eyes as she untied the boat, and pushed off into the swamp. "Ain't nothin' gonna happen with ol' Frenchie here. Ya know, my brother an' me, we used to take the city-slickers out on tours in the swamp, we did. Made good money."

"Why don't ya quit chatterin', an' focus on makin' this damn thing go, huh?"

* * *

 

Savannah didn't miss Merle's sigh of relief as she pulled the pirogue up to the rickety wooden dock in front of her home, but it was only in an abstract sort of way, the excitement of seeing the trailer she'd grown up in overtaking everything else. As she seen the additions her father and her brothers had added on, just so they'd have enough bedrooms.

She could barely force herself to wait by the boat for Daryl –and slightly more unsteadily –Merle to climb out of the boat, before she bolted up towards the house.

"Maman! Maw maw! Paw paw!" She called excitedly, running up to the door.

She didn't make it, before a swarm of children bolted out of the house, knocking her over, all of them talking loudly, climbing all over her.

"Ah, _mon dieu_ , but Savannah missed you brats, her did!" She said happily, wrapping Adelphe in her arms, as Odette threw her arms around her neck, as the twins –Julien and Justine –began rummaging through her pockets, looking for candy. "Alright, boos, that's enough outta you. Get out of there!" She laughed, finally struggling to her feet. "Sissy brought guests, her did. Come on, you little demons. Merle, Daryl, dese are four o' my nine brothers and sisters. This is Adelphe, Odette, an' these two _peeshwanks_ is _P'tit_ Julie, and Justine."

She sighed sadly when she seen Daryl staring around Merle's side, practically hiding behind his big brother, his big blue eyes wider than usual.

"Uh… Adelphe, why don' you take Daryl 'round back, show him the animals, hmm?"

Merle hesitated for just a second, before giving Daryl a nudge towards Adelphe, who was already moving towards the back of the house, babbling on in French.

"English, _boug_! He don' speak French yet, him don't!" She called after him. "C'mon, Merle. See if maybe my _pere_ is home yet, him. Julie, come on, _mon ami_ , get off my leg, you. Go find _Maman_ , hmm? Go on! Get! Go with him, Justine, make sure him _non_ get lost."

Merle chuckled a bit as the two curly, blonde four year olds ran back into the house, yelling loudly.

"Jesus, Frenchie, an' I thought Daryl was a handful. Can't imagine havin' nine a these little brats runnin' 'round."

"Well, Remy and Marc are older den me."

"So there's ten a ya. You, an'… Odette an' Justine, right? You three the only girls?" He asked as they started towards the house.

" _Oui_. Odette's seven, an' the twins are four. But don' worry, Adelphe an' Olivier –wherever the hell he's gotten to – they only a year or two older den Daryl. They'll keep an eye on him, they will. Make sure nothin’ bad hap –"

"Oh, _mon bebe_! Jean! Jean, Savannah's home! _Mon Dieu_ , my _p'tit bebe_!"

Savannah was nearly bowled over again as her mother's fiery red hair appeared in the doorway, and she could hardly breathe as the stout woman wrapped her in a fierce hug.

" _Maman_! Is daddy home?"

" _Oui, oui_! We been waitin' for you, we have! Him put off leavin' for 'nudder week, him did! Oh, _bebe_ , is so good to have you home! Oh! You brough' guests, you did, boo! Who dis be?"

"Uh… _Maman_ , this is my friend, Merle. Um… Paw Paw met him at the graduation, him did, but… things were so hectic, them were, just kind o' forgot to introduce him. So um… Maman, this is Merle. Merle, this is my mama, Odalia. Most people just call her Odi 'round here."

"Where she be? Where's my _petit_ girl?"

"Daddy!"

Shit. Merle seriously wished the ground would open up, and swallow him whole as he watched Savannah and her father hug, the tall, bear of a man wrapping his arms around her, and swinging her around.

"Oh, Savannah, we missed choo some'tin fierce, we did," The man said happily, before his gaze fell on Merle, and a small frown appeared on his face. "Chere, who dis?"

"Uh… Hi. I'm uh… I'm Merle. Merle Dixon," Merle said nervously, holding his hand out nervously. "I'm um… I'm with Savannah's unit."

"Jean. Jean Lantier," Jean said quietly, before turning back to his daughter, and speaking in rapid-fire French. While Merle might not have understood the words, he'd seen the look Jean was giving him before, and Savannah's eye roll spoke volumes as they went back and forth for a few minutes.

"Oh, you stop it, Jean-Pierre!" Savannah's mama finally cut in, shoving in between the two, and giving Merle a smile. "Any friend o' Savannah's welcome here. Savannah say… You brudder here too?"

"Uh… Uh, yes, ma'am. Savannah sent him outback with… Um… Adolph?"

"Adolphe," Savannah laughed. "C'mon; let's go see what _maman_ and Maw Maw got cookin', hm?"

* * *

 

Feeling more than a little nervous, Merle followed Savannah into the house, nodding at her folks as they passed by them into the house, hearing the two whispering in French behind him as he and Savannah made their way into the house

"Thought you said they knew I was comin'," He muttered, glancing around the trailer – which was actually two single-wide trailers shoved together, with a few additions added on from what he'd seen outside.

"Just said was bringing a friend from boot camp, I did. Don' you worry, cher; my  _pere_ , he’s all bark no bite. Come on, want you to meet Maw Maw," Savannah said impatiently, leading him towards the back. "Jus' 'member, cher... You wanna be  _real_  polite to her, you do," She added with a grin, as she shoved a blanket aside, and pushed Merle into a small room.

It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness of the room, lit only by candles as it was. When he could finally see, he started backing up, nearly running Savannah over.

"What the fuck?!" He said quietly, staring at the small animal skulls, candles, and other various forms of nature tied to the ceiling. A small woman, darker skinned than Savannah sat behind a small table, grinding something with a mortar and pestle, glancing up at Merle and Savannah questioningly.

"Maw Maw is our hoodoo woman. What you would call a ‘medicine woman’. She also read the cards," Savannah whispered back, before pushing him farther into the room, and moving around him to drop down next to the older woman, giving her a large hug.

Almost immediately, the woman hugged her back, babbling on in something that sounded almost like French, but rougher, and with a thicker accent. Savannah replied back, and the two went on for a few minutes, before Merle cleared his throat.

"Oh! Sorry, cher... Maw Maw, this be my good friend Merle. Merle, this be my...  _gran-mere._  You can call her Miz Liz. S'what most folks 'round here call her."

Merle took a cautious step forward, reaching his hand out. "Um... Nice to meet you... Miz Liz," He said thickly, as the woman grabbed his palm, flipping it over, and staring at it intently for a few minutes, before fixing him with an intent stare.

"Mah Savannah, she tell me that choo is goo' man, choo is. But Miz Liz, she see all. Wridden on choo palm. Wridden in choo face. Choo got de long road 'head, choo do. An' Miz Liz...  _Mais_ , she check de cards, her will, bu' she don' see de happy endin' choo wan' in choo palm, her don'. Gon’ have what choo wan’, an’ choo gon’ lose it all."

"Maw Maw! Don' be scarin' him off now, he just got here, him did!" Savannah said exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. "What you doin' back here anyways? _Maman_ say you was helping her make dinner."

Miz Liz held his stare for a few more seconds, before releasing his hand, and giving her granddaughter a smile. " _Oui_ , ol' Maw Maw make choo fine dinner, her did. Made choo favorite. Made 'nough for dis big man o’ yous, an' his liddle brudder," She said with a knowing look.

Savannah laughed as the small woman swept out of the room imperiously, Merle's face one of shock.

"Told you," She said, spinning him around, and pushing him back out of the room. "Maw Maw sees it all, her does. People, they come all the way from New Orleans to get they palms read, or they future tol' by Miz Liz."

Merle grunted as they walked back down the hallway. "She's fuckin’ _creepy_ , is what she is," He snorted. "Jus' what the hell that supposed ta mean anyways? 'Happy ending I want'?"

Savannah shrugged. "Don' know. She don' know probably. She jus' sees things. She don’t explain them, her don'. Now c'mon; you in for surprise, you is. Real Cajun food, bes' food known to man, it is. ‘Specially when Maman cooks."

Merle chuckled, swinging an arm up over her shoulder. "Do I wanna know what's in it?"

"Prob'ly better  _non_  to ask," She said with a grin.


End file.
